On Iconography

In a very round-about train of thought, I recalled that strict modern Islam has a tenant against depicting the Holy Prophet Muhammad. Having been at one point raised a semi-strict Jew with ludicrous regulations against eating delicious food and never letting various obscure items touch the floor, preventing a golden-calf-level faux pas of idolatry or detracting in any way from the glory of one's god seems more than reasonable.

Actually, it seems like this could have done a lot for the other faiths. I haven't heard much lately, but I'm aware that there is still quite a bit of debate over exactly how dark-skinned Jesus supposedly was. I'm not in the camp that he was black, but only because I'm not sure -1st century Israelites would have been very open to interracial marriage and the Ethiopian Jews were still isolated from the rest of their culture. I'd still believe he was a pretty swarthy guy, though. Jim Caviezel? Not really there yet. Maybe Jim Caviezel after a week in Boca. Certainly not the scrawny Aryan I see in a lot of stained glass.

And just forget Judaism straight away. If I had to guess at what Moses looked like I'd end up drawing you a picture of Charlton Heston.

Hell, "Buddha" is just a title for "enlightened one," of which Buddhism makes note of several. Siddhartha Guatama, the Guatama Buddha who kinda took the lead in the pantheon, that guy was a tall, skinny prince-turned-aesthetic. The fat little buddy on my desk is mot likely based off a Chinese monk who was fat and walked the East enlightening others.

As far as I can tell, the only faiths that seem to embrace highly detailed descriptions of their important figures are Hindu and Scientology.

All hail Tom Cruise.

On Spontaneity

My friends are not very good planners.

Sure, we prioritize, set dates in advance, but when it comes time to actually get shit done, we're not exactly the army corp of engineers. The best laid plans seem to be set only a few days in advance. Maybe four or five, max. Anything longer will require excessive planning that will change repeatedly, then again the night before and usually involves large cash expenditures for gas and admittance and food-slash-drink.

Somehow we've all adapted, though. It's gotten to the point where I'm pretty sure we all leave our schedules open because we know something is coming. I've been invited into The City with a half hour's notice. I've been invited upstate the night before. I've been invited to a theme park in New Jersey of all places on maybe three days grace. I've been invited to someone's prom two hundred miles away with maybe a month beforehand.

But today was a new one. Today I was invited to be a bridesmaid's date to a wedding on Long Island thirteen hours ahead of the ceremony.

Thankfully, this was somewhat facetious, but somewhere in the infinite void is a universe where I end up going down to Lawn Guyland and partying with a bunch of people I've never met. I think I'd like to live in that universe, but my responsibilities for tomorrow were set by my own volition weeks ago. Would that I could, but I'm already seeing the dozen tiny sings that the universe has seen my altruism and is pleased.

The Universe is an everlasting river with lulls and eddies and currents, and if you listen carefully to the sound it makes you will hear its multitudinous voice, forever speaking, "Ohm."

Either that or The Universe is a fickle bitch, created in my own vast but tiny mind too terrified of emotionally dealing with the rest of humanity on anything but my own limited terms.

But probably the first.